


Disbelieve

by Faerendipitous



Category: Tooth Fairy - Fandom
Genre: Am I the first fanfiction for Tooth Fairy omg I'm a fic pioneer, Other, WE USED TO RIDE THESE BABIES OR M I L E S, WHERES MY ROCK
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 16:52:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9194288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faerendipitous/pseuds/Faerendipitous
Summary: Somewhere at the edges of his mind, he can still see it: a whole world dying in a dizzying collapse; his home, gone. It's left him broken, unable to remember who he is, and afraid of the dark. But he's not the only one who's afraid.





	1. Disbelieve

Sometimes he still had nightmares about it. Vague, blurry images that flit through his mind like wasps, stinging until he bolted awake, his bed sheets half soaked through with cold sweat. This was one of those nights.

Tracysat up, throwing the damp sheets off and dangling his legs over the side of the bed, hands covering his face, fingers digging into his brow and temple. He let out a deep sigh, one that he'd grown rather friendly with since his stay inDenver. These nights happened more frequently than he would have liked, and they always ended the same way: no recollection of the dream and an exhausted man who could hardly keep his focus at whatever he happened to be doing the next day. Very recently, it had been working at a Laundromat. He glanced at the small digital clock on his night stand. It was only three in the morning, but he stood and trudged to his closet. Getting an early start to the day was better than laying around in bed trying to remember that blasted dream. He could never remember it; it was all a blur of pastel yellows and pinks and blues, and a looming, menacing black that just didn't belong. He always remembered the screaming and the sharp, warm pain in the back of his head. The dream always ended with the most sickening sensation, as if he were falling from the heavens, but in all the wrong directions.

His stomach churned just at the thought of it. _That_ , he always remembered.

Water spilled from the faucet as he turned the knob on the head of the sink. He swallowed hard, trying to shake the awful feeling that dream always left. It was like watching the world burn around you, he'd realized some time ago, and it was every bit as upsetting. He was surprised he found the strength to crawl out of bed after that one – everything had seemed so real, less distant. It hadn't seemed, this time, as if he were just standing outside the scene, or in the protection of a glass case. This time, he'd been _in_ that disaster, whatever it was. He'd been running for his life, he'd been caught at the heels by those black _things_ and he'd nearly been ripped to shreds. And then there had been the other ones, the ones above him – _in every way_ – and then there was the sharp pain and a loud crack that he couldn't tell if it were coming from inside him or from the chaos that was unfolding – _collapsing in on itself, being sucked in like a black hole, trapped_ – in front of him before the world went black, blacker than it had been, and everything stopped.

Tracylet out a choked sob and gasped for breath, pulling his face upwards from the steady stream of water flowing from his sink.

It'd been like dying.

The towel was soft and warm and it woke him up a little more than the cold water had. It was like dying, every night, and there was nothing he could do about it. He wanted to know why he was having this nightmare, over and over and over so that it seeped from the subconscious world and bothered his mind in its waking state as well, but he couldn't remember. He couldn't remember anything beforeDenver. It was a sort of amnesia, he guessed, it had to be. He'd stumbled into the town in a state of delirium, muttering on about amnesia dust, about not believing – he never said what – and clutching a child's tooth in his right hand.

He replaced the towel slowly and drew his hand towards his face, taking in the physical reminder of his short-lived insanity. A small white scar remained on the flesh of his palm – he'd clutched the lost tooth so tightly, as if it were something so sacred to him, that he'd broken the skin on his hand, punctured it rather deeply, drawing blood with the small token of… of…

He sighed, shrugging on his uniform. Token of something or other, he was sure of that. He still had the tooth, slightly blood stained as it was, in the drawer of his nightstand. As silly as it sounded, it was something that grounded him, made him feel comforted for some odd reason, and made him feel all the less lonely.

Tracywas very lonely. He was blessed, he knew, because he had people looking after him; kind, charitable people who had found him that first night in a tattered work suit, raving like a lunatic, broken and bleeding in several places. They'd taken care of him, more patient than anyone he'd ever met in his life, he was sure, even if he couldn't quite remember it all. They helped him get along; they provided him with an apartment in their complex, they helped him get settled and registered inColorado, they helped him find a job… They were Saints, they had to be. Angels from heaven, beautiful winged creatures who resided—

A sharp pain shot through his temple and he cringed, groping for the medicine cabinet. Bloody migraines…

He downed two pills with a swig of tap water and sat back on the bed, bathed in darkness again. His skin crawled. He truly hated the dark. There was something about it that he felt was suffocating, something he knew would kill him if he sat still long enough, like quicksand.

He took a deep breath, just to reassure himself.

Still breathing.

He exhaled, a great, shuddering noise, and looked at the clock again.

It was going to be a long day, he surmised.

The days themselves were uneventful, boring, lacking a certain _magic_ he felt he'd once had in his life. Perhaps it was his own fault. He'd stopped interacting with people; he'd stopped trying to find a girlfriend, he'd just _stopped trying_ , really, all together. There was something a lot more important he should have been doing, not watching people clean their dirty unmentionables all day long. Everything in his back office, his perch, was impeccably organized. Everything had its place, and God help you if you came in here and messed it up. It was one of the few things that gaveTracy the sense of normalcy his life utterly lacked.

All sorts of people meandered in and out of the shop. Men and women, families and lone-goers. Big and short and small and tall – people of all different races and ethnicities and identities. His favorite were the children. He'd been told that it was creepy, sick – one person had even gone so far as to call it shamefully disgusting, which had confused him for quite a few days. But he'd straightened everything out with the proprietors of the Laundromat, in a ditch effort to keep the job that he so desperately needed. He was not fascinated with the children in any unlawful way, he'd hurriedly explained. He just thought they had a certain… charm about them. An untainted innocence that was refreshing to see in the world. It was a small form of hope, for him, another strange thing about himself he couldn't quite explain. It was just _nice_ , to see the children with their unmatchable amount of imagination, wide eyes and learning about the world just slowly enough to relish those years where anything was possibl. The years before sour adulthood took over and they stopped believing.

He watched over them as they played while their parents used the facility. They chased each other around the free standing industrial machines, shrieking happily as one pretended to be after the others. That was good, they were learning. He'd smile – a real, genuine smile – when they ran past his little half-office.

Most of them did, anyway.

There was that one little girl, he'd noticed – she and her mum would come in every Tuesday, and she'd sit on one of the plastic chairs that had been bolted into the linoleum, and she'd just stare at him. To be honest, it was a little creepy, that she never took her eyes off ofTracy, no matter where he moved around the shop. She'd draw her knees up to her chin whenever he glanced at her, ducking her head so that only her eyes were visible from behind her angel-thin blonde hair. It wasn't in a way that suggested she was frightened of him – if anything, she seemed bashful. He could see the smile in her eyes, and even heard her laugh once, but only when he looked directly at her. Otherwise, she'd just stare at him with wide eyes, never saying a word, not even to her mother – at least not until they left.

The door chimes jingled as they exited. For some reason, the sound made him inexplicably sad. That sweet little girl was the best part of his week, but the dingy shop closed in a half an hour, then he'd lock up and go home, and start the dreadful process all over again, with seven whole days in between the sight of that lovely little girl and her bashful smile again.

When she was not there, he often spent his work days being disgusted with himself – not in a bad way, if that were a possibility. He liked _him_ well enough, but his _situation_ could go burn in Hell for all he cared. Things were not supposed to be like this. It was a sentiment he couldn't help from tugging at the blurry edges of his mind, where everything was entrenched in the fog of his forgotten self. Everything was great, once upon a time, and he was close to going somewhere. Things had just looked up for him, and now he was _here_ , locking up a struggling Laundromat for the night so that he could come back and open it again at six in the morning.

The road was dark, but the stars came to his aid, casting down their light on him, like glitter against the sky, a beautiful velvet backdrop that he could have just reached out and touched, maybe – once upon a time. The stuff of fairy tales, he thought bitterly. The walk home was longer than usual, that night, and he wanted nothing more than to be home, those few precious seconds between wakefulness and the terror of sleep.

* * *

He dropped into his bed at ten thirty Thursday night. He'd gotten home a half hour ago and scarfed down some plain rice and cardboard chicken. The important thing was that it was food, sustenance that was often hard for him to come by. He made due with what he could afford, and it just so happened to be rice and chicken.

The moment his body hit the old spring mattress, he let out a deep groan. He'd been on his feet for the last week straight and his whole body was sore with anxiety. He prayed that the dream wouldn't pester him again tonight – his body couldn't afford it.

He loosened undid the top two buttons of his shirt and closed his eyes, not bothering to change out of his clothes. It was already Thursday, he told himself, he could do this. The Laundromat was closed on Sundays, only three more days.

There was a loud knocking on his door.

Tracy's heart hammered in his chest. No one _ever_ knocked on his door, so who was it? More importantly, what did they want? The hammering stopped, the offending organ settling somewhere around his knees as the possibilities came to him. Perhaps it was another parent. He'd very carefully, very tediously explained to all of his regulars that their children weren't in any danger and that it had all just been a nasty rumor. Perhaps it was the landlords, coming to kick him out. He'd been in the apartment for three years on half-rent. They had every right to be tired of him by now.

Every muscle stiffened as he lay in bed, straining to hear any noise coming from the other side of the door. It was a wasted effort, he knew. The walls were old and thick and no one could hear anything from the hallway.

The knocking came again. Maybe if he just lay there, maybe if he didn't do anything they'd go away. That would be _choice,_ really, just splendid.

_Knock knock knock._

This one was much different from the first two. It was much more delicate, and the sudden change in the demeanor of his unwelcomed guest intrigued him. He shuffled, sitting up on the mattress and looking out at the door to his apartment. He stood slowly, rebuttoning his wrinkled shirt and moving as quietly as possible into the sitting room. The apartment doors lacked peepholes. He pressed his ear up against the wood, trying with everything he had to make out the gruff undertones of his landlord, or the irritated chatter of a parent. Worse, his heart sank a little lower, a cop. He'd had a cop on him once before, when he'd first made it into the city – the officer had thoughtTracywas here illegally. He'd stuttered out that he wasn't even sure where 'here' was, that he'd been doing fine until all of four hours ago, when he'd woken up in the hospital. The man chalked that once instance up as the beginning of this waking nightmare. It had all been downhill from there, the questioning, the lack of records, the close watch that was kept on him for the first year. No one would hire him, because they didn't want to be mixed up in the business of an illegal, if the cops were able to turn anything up on him. Rumors had ruined his life more than once since his stay inDenver. He was tired and worn to the bone, and the last thing he wanted to deal with was an angry, intrusive, misinformed cop at this hour—

"Hello?" he heard, through the door. It was faint, but it was decidedly too high pitched to belong to a burly cop orTracy's landlord. In fact, it sounded as if it were the voice of a child.

He undid the deadbolt and unlocked the door, swinging it open wide. There she was, standing there with her mother, who wore a look of mild surprise on her face and pulled her daughter backwards. "Oh," he said, paying the mother very little mind. This was the little girl who sat in the Laundromat every Tuesday. "Hello."

"Sorry to bother you, mister…?"

"Uhm, just Tracy. Still not entirely sure what my last name might be."

"Tracy," the mother said slowly. "But my daughter was just adamant about coming here. There's, uhm, obviously been a mistake, wrong apartment, I guess-"

"Nope," the little girl chimed, looking up atTracywith wide eyes, the same look she'd give him at the Laundromat. "This is him. You remember him, right mommy?"

The woman knelt down and picked up her daughter. "Of course I do, dear," she said, though he was more than certain the woman had never spared him a passing glance. She looked him square in the eye. He could see immediately that she was just as tired as he was. "I know this is more than a little intrusive, but may we come in?"

Tracyshuffled out of the doorway, noticing that his headache was back. He decided it could definitely wait, now that he had company. He almost laughed at the notion. He hadn't had company since he'd gotten out of the hospital, and the first people to visit him since were complete and total strangers, despite their regular use of the Laundromat. He sat them down in the pitiable living room and fixed the mother a cup of tea, letting the little girl play on the floor for the moment.

"So what brings you here? I mean, no trouble at all really, but I'm just… curious. Why here?" he asked, sitting on the chair opposite the woman, with the little girl between them. She had a small bag with her and was holding a flashlight, playing with the beam that it produced. The mother looked wearily down at her child and he could see that the family had endured a storm of their own. "What's happened?"

"My daughter's been a little… on edge since my husband died. She… saw you at the Laundromat and thinks you can help her," she said, and it sounded more like a question than the statement it was supposed to be. "As soon as it gets dark out, she has a problem. She won't go to sleep at night, and she said that you…" she sighed. "Why don't you tell him, Lily?"

The name sent shivers downTracy's spine, though he couldn't explain why. It was another heavy, lost memory of someone that maybe he knew, but the face and personality never matched up with the name. Everything was foggy, but the name gave him a start all the same, raising the hair on the back of his neck and causing him to wince inwardly as the little girl looked up and crawled into her mothers lap without abandoning the flashlight, sitting so that she was facing the man. He smiled at her, hoping to coax her out of that bashful silence she'd woven for herself. He leaned forward. "Why don't you tell Old Tracy about it, hmm? If you really think I can help."

She looked up at him and nodded once. "I'm afraid of the dark," she said, softly, clutching the flashlight to her chest; he felt a great weight taken off his. He'd thought that two strangers appearing suddenly at his door would pose more of a problem than a fear of the dark. His own fear stirred inside of him at her words, but he ignored it, pretended to be brave and help her get over her fear. "And why are you afraid of the dark, Lily?" he choked on her name.

Her eyes went wider, if possible, and she blanched a little, clutching the light and staring straight at him as she said it.

"The dark killed daddy."

He felt the familiar suffocating pressure on his chest, the knot of dread that accompanied his uncertain past, his fear of the dark and of those things unknown. It was such a simple sentence, and rather silly, he'd admit, but the notion terrified him, the thought that he wasn't the only one who felt like it was murderous. He repeated her slowly, feeling the weight of the words as they left his lips hang about the air like lead. Lily nodded. Her mother wrapped an arm around her middle and explained. "Ziggy had a stroke," she said softly, "and died in his sleep. Now Lily won't sleep at night, and even getting her to lay down in the afternoon is difficult."

"Ziggy was your husband?" he asked, that familiar detached feeling washing over him. Another name, another pain in his temple. The woman nodded; Lily spoke up.

"It wasn't the stroke," she said, her words measured and confident. "It was the dark. They ate his dreams and that's what killed him!"

"Who ate daddy's dreams, Lily?"

Her face fell, and she looked like she was on the verge of crying, though her voice was quiet and steady. "The bogeymen. They ate daddy's dreams."

Tracyrubbed a thumb against the side of his head. The pain was returning full force. "Dreams are good, though!" he said, closing his eyes against the uncomfortably pressure in his skull. "Dreams are what keep people going, what makes people who they are! Dreams are – are wonderful things, miss Lily, absolutely wonderful things, very important. It's when you _don't_ dream that the bogeymen come. When they have _bad_ dreams to eat – they don't want the good ones." He stuttered and tripped around his words, trying to make it all up on the spot. It all came out rusty, like he was regurgitating a lecture he himself had gotten a long, long time ago. All the better, he thought, wearily, best to make her believe it.

"The bogeymen don't – they can't hurt you if you don't sleep. I don't want to sleep, because they're still there, sometimes. I don't think they know what they did to daddy, and they're looking for him, for more dreams."

He nodded. "That's probably right. Bogeymen aren't too terribly bright, or they wouldn't feed off of someone's dreams in the first place. But they won't hurt you, Lily, because you still have good dreams. Your daddy was probably having bad dreams, and that's why they were able to hurt him."

He looked up and saw the mother's face, an expression of pure appall of what he was telling her five year old daughter. His face flushed a pale pink and he hurried to explain. "Y'see, the bogeymen, they don't actually feed off of _you_ , like leeches, they feed off of your dreams. They make the dreams bad so that they have something to eat. When the dreams are gone all together and there's nothing left for them, the host dies. It's all very inconspicuous, but having _good_ dreams actually keeps them away. They don't like having to do work, right, so if they have to do all that bad-dream business right off the bat, they won't bother with you."

The woman frowned and he buried his face in his hands. He was just digging himself deeper and deeper, and by now she probably though he was half-mad. "M'sorry," he said, that uncomfortable feeling weighing down on his chest. "Shouldn't have said any of that. I don't even know where that came from, sort of just… bubbled out, didn't it?"

Sleep tugged at the corners of his mind as he sat there with his guests; Lily took the flashlight and settled the dusty beam over his shoulders. The room was not especially dark, but he felt at that moment that her light was the strongest he'd seen in a while. "Are you sure that good dreams will keep them away?" she asked, in a tone that almost resembled hushed awe.

"One hundred percent." He gave a quick nod, not daring to say anything more than that. By some stroke of luck, Lily had not been horrified by his description of monsters that feed off of dreams, and whatever other lunacy was floating around in his head. "It's safe for you to sleep, little Lily. It's _good_ for you to sleep, maybe you can get those mean Bogeymen out of your house. Wouldn't that be something?"

She nodded and smiled;Tracynoticed that the girl was missing several teeth, and this only made his smile all the more genuine, less weary and much brighter. Her mother stood with her daughter in her arms and knelt down to retrieve Lily's small bag that had been left on the floor. She grabbed it in her tiny fists immediately as her mother stood and unzipped the top with some the door for them and the mother said her gratitude and bid him a good night. Lily leaned over her mother's shoulder and held something out to Tracy, who took it hesitantly. Her hand hardly fit around the arm of the doll; his nearly swallowed it whole. He looked up at the girl in mild confusion.

It was a toy of hers, a fairy princess doll in a pastel pink tutu, with soft, ornate wings that made his heart ache, but in a way that he couldn't remember feeling in Denver. "Maybe this will help the bad dreams stop, mister Tracy." She said quietly, draped over her mother's shoulder and staring solemnly at him. "Maybe you can get your good dreams back, too. So they don't get you."


	2. Disenchant

Tracy lay in bed the next night, holding Lily's gift, staring intently at is as if trying to remember something _important._ He was puzzled. How had the little girl known about his nightmares? Staring at this doll, he could feel something, something that was _right there_ , just past his fingertips, still shrouded in that awful fog that had settled over his life.

He heaved another sigh and rolled over in the bed, holding the small doll in the crook of his arm. Any other night he would feel foolish for attaching any sentiment to the child's toy, but tonight, he just didn't care. He closed his eyes and let sleep wash over him, his last conscious thought being of Lily's parting words. "So they don't get you." He was only mildly amused by her antics; fear was the presiding emotion. Some of what she'd told him scared him as much as the dark. There was something not right about her imaginary world, and that too resided behind that shroud of forgetfulness.

Tracy drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The smell of burnt sugar filled the air, and he wrinkled his nose against it. Jerry was working in the back room again, and is certainly smelled like he'd been having a rough day. He greeted the senior fairy with something quick-witted and made him laugh, and began to take stock. It was one of those unlucky days when he was on stockroom duty. It wouldn't take very long; he'd be done and back in the office by three, which was ideal. He could get back to the paperwork and go home by five, or stay for Fairyoke. They seemed like equally good ideas.

He took his clipboard and stared up at the shelves of stock. Something squirmed uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach; the shelves were nearly bare. A box here or there and a few stray packets of amnesia dust or shrinking paste. Some of the shelves were dusty, a tell tale sign that they had been untouched for some time, that Fairy's budget had steadily declined, restricting the flow of equipment. They no longer stocked cat-away, but Jerry still made those nifty little mints, so it wasn't too much of a loss for the Fairies who venture to the Human plane for teeth. But they were running low and, with less and less funding, they might not be able to afford the next shipment. It might have to wait until next quarter. He scratched a note at the bottom of the inventory paper.

There was a small tremor that shook the room, causing a cluster of tooth-radar wands to shuffle off of their shelf and fall to the floor with a looked up from the stock list, barely moving a muscle. That was odd.

Everything was more or less clockwork here. He could tell down to the second when the nightshift came in; he knew exactly when the mail fairy made her rounds, dropping off memos and other miscellaneous paperwork to his office. He knew how long he would be down in the stock room, despite the lack of its clock.

His pen scratched absently across the paper as he counted the crates of invisibility spray – it was a Tooth Fairy's greatest resource, and they couldn't afford _not_ to stock plenty of it.

He moved to the next shelf and froze again. Another tremor racked the room and the lights flickered, temporarily bathing the room in darkness. Tracy's heart hammered in his chest. Fairy ran like clockwork, and _this_ , this eerily devious progression of events, was the metaphorical ominous kink in the cogs. "Jerry," he called, waiting for the older fairy to turn the corner before addressing his concern. "Any idea what's going on up there?" he asked.

"No," He said sounding as concerned as Tracy. This was a rare occurrence, to not be met with a snarky remark from the man. "Maybe some experi-dental project?"

And there it was. Tracy shook his head and looked back to his work. With any luck they'd sort out whatever was giving them power problems.

A third tremor shook the room, throwing both men to the floor and raining supplies down on them. The lights popped, leaving them in the dark permanently.

"No,"Tracy said slowly, "I don't think it was anything experimental."

He made his way back up the stairs carefully, wary of what was on the other side of the basement door, outside the stock room. Fairy didn't run on electricity; the lights were an extension of the magic energy that coursed throughFairyLand. The lights all over the building were out, lending an ashen tone to the once golden, glowing hallways. Something settled itself in the pit of Tracy's chest, something heavy and forbidding, and he didn't like it at all.

There was a ringing silence in the halls outside the stockroom; the air was acrid and made his insides squirm uncomfortably. Something was very, very wrong. It was a poor choice, really, to go and investigate, and he knew that as his heels clicked against the tiles with every step, the only audible sound in the hallway, but something inside him couldn't help it. The sheer curiosity, perhaps. What could possibly make the lights go out, driven by magic as they were?

Another pair of footsteps joined his – dainty footsteps, padded by a pair of dance slippers – another fairy, coming down the hall towards him. He picked up his pace and turned the corner, nearly plowing her over. She was a tiny thing – but at his height, most people were. She rammed into his chest, bouncing back in her stupor and he caught her by the arm, waiting a beat as she steadied herself. She looked up.

"Tracy!"

"Marina, what happened to you? You're uniform's in shreds and – what – what happened to your wing?" He asked in a quiet voice, shock washing through him at her appearance. Her tutu was literally falling apart around her waist. There was a large tear in her stockings and an even larger hole in her wing, as if someone had burned right through it.

She didn't reply, but threw her arms around his middle and squeezed. "You're alive! They all thought – the office, your door was – But you're okay!"

He grabbed her by the shoulders and knelt down to her eye level. "What do you mean, 'still alive'?"

Her eyes went wide and she practically collapsed against him. "It's happening," she said, quietly. "Tracy, we have to get out, they're not listening and It's going to kill us, we have to-"

The hall chilled andMarinafroze mid sentence, eyes locking with his before he looked back towards the stock room. A black mist seeped through the ceiling. Liquefying as soon as it was free and falling into a gelatinous puddle on the floor that seemed to shift and bend as more of it and tugged on his arm, trying to snap him out of the hypnotized stupor he'd fallen into watching it, whatever it was. She dragged him through the halls, trying to get back to his office.

He wanted to ask what was going on; he wanted to know what that black, tar-like substance falling from the ceiling was and why it scared her so much. She was nearly hysterical, despite the fact that she was usually a very level-headed fairy. She was a higher-up, too, and if anyone knew what was going on it'd be her. If he could just get her to calm down long enough to explain. He broke her grip on his wrist and grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop. She panicked immediately, begging and pleading for them to keep going, but Tracy was adamant about learning what was going on.

"Just stop, for a second and tell me what that _stuff_ was, back there. What's going to kill us?Marina, answer me!" he snapped, shaking her, perhaps a bit too roughly.

 _Plop!_ went the sludge, falling from the ceiling and landing on her uninjured wing. She froze, her eyes going wide as he watched in horror; whatever that was ate right through the delicate material of her wing, leaving the untouched parts look as if someone had pressed a match to them. It crept onto her shoulder and she whimpered, standing stock still. He reached out a hand to wipe the gunk from her shoulder and she went positively _ballistic_ , screaming at him not to touch It, to get away, go, go back to the office, _go_! He recoiled, eyeing her with concern. "Marina," he said, fighting for composure of his own voice. "What _is_ that?"

It readily grew over her shoulder, dripping down her front and crawling up her neck. She tried to paw it away, but it only adhered itself to her hands. She managed to say something, but it was muffled by the black tar that was growing over her mouth and nose at an alarmingly fast pace.

"The Void."

Tracy thought perhaps he misheard. He _had_ to have misheard. He grabbed her around the waist, taking extra precaution to make sure the black stuff didn't touch him. "Marina. Marina, focus, focus on me, and tell me, what _is_ this."

The fairy's pupils constricted to pinpoints and she thrashed in his grip, clawing madly at the tar covering her airways and suddenly he understood: it was suffocating her. Her movements slowed and her eyes rolled back into her head before she went limp, falling to the floor as the tar spread like a wild fire over her body, constricting and shrinking.

It was just watched her die; he just watched her have the life sucked out of her. He staggered backwards until he hit something solid, planting a stabilizing hand on the wall he'd just backed into, looking up and seeing more of that black vapor seeping from the ceiling tiles.

He inched away, unable to take his eyes off of the scene that he still could not believe had just unfolded in front of him.

He bolted down the hall, back to his sanctuary, constantly having to side step great globs of the stuff that reached hungrily towards his legs with every step. As he moved closer to the main plaza, he could _hear_ it, the chaos that had left Marina in such a state, the reason why everyone thought he was dead when he'd emerged from the stock room. It was a deafening tumult from just down the hall, a strange barrier between haven and Hell, and it was fading fast. He traced the familiar path without having to think very much about it – he'd walked from the stock room to his office and back so many times that he could have done it blindfolded.

He stumbled to the relative safety of his office and closed the door. This was _not_ good. A weight settled itself in his chest as the severity of the situation dawned on him. God, he never actually thought this would happen. His breath caught in his throat and his heart pounded in his ears. He couldn't go out there, he couldn't watch that destruction. He collapsed against his desk, his thoughts restless, making it difficult to concentrate on anything and causing his vision to swim in and out. He was going to die, they all were. The last of fairy kind was about to be Disenchanted. The thought made his stomach churn and, combined with the smell of burning feathers that had wafted down the hall, he retched into the waste bin behind his desk, all embarrassment forgotten in the terror of the moment as he sat there with his head between his knees, trying to compose himself.

It was a long, slow process, Disenchanting. The electric sting of magic hung in the air as braver fairies rushed into the midst of things, trying to dispel the bogeymen and The Void. It was a waste, he thought numbly. A waste of magic that could have been used to get everyone to safety. His lips trembled as he tried to form words, trying to drown out the sounds of chaos outside his office door, but it was too loud. It was like something out of a cheaply made horror film, but so much realer. He heard them, out there; one screamed, and he squeezed his eyes shut. It was a ringing noise that cut through him like a knife, slicing a fine line of fear from his heart to the bottom of his stomach.

He held himself tighter as the scream stopped. It was worse.

This was not happening. How could this have happened? Sure, he thought distantly, they were a little low on faith, but they'd been managing. They'd always met the set quotas, even if it was just the low end, and they'd always been safe. Now,FairyLandwas literally collapsing around him, being eaten by the fluid black mass that was The Void. How many children had been disenchanted today, told by their parents that his world didn't exist? Too many, an impossible number, because the lack of faith had allowed The Void to come and clean up. The idea of faith is that you need people to believe. If no one believes, what's the point in existing? Never mind that It was taking the lives of millions of Fairies in Its tirade.

The room grew cold, and Tracy gave out a whimper, reduced to an utterly helpless tangle of limbs on the floor as It sought his magic. He could feel it seeping through the door, clawing Its way across the floor.

Something banged against his office door and It gave a hideous, other worldly hiss. The insurmountable feeling of dread that had lodged itself in his chest withdrew along with the bogeyman, releasing Its grip on him and allowing him to move again. He sprung up from behind his desk, terrified and elated and nervous all at once, to find that the bogeyman had recoiled, seeping back out the door to collect in a writhing heap on the floor, encasing a fallen fairy in Its folds.

It was a moment of sheer stupidity that could very well get him killed, but he supposed he was going to die either way. What was there to lose? He took great bounding strides to the door and threw it open with every ounce of force his shaking limbs could exert, slamming the half-shrunken heap of bogeyman back against the wall and shattering the glass pane in the door. He only stood there momentarily as he watched the thing reform after the sudden assault, like a sponge that had been squeezed too tightly. It bubbled and pushed outward, oily tendrils searching for his ankles.

Tracy took off like a shot down the hall.

He'd always been taught to go down with his ship, he mused, heart thrumming against his ribcage, but this ship was going to bring about the extinction of a species. There was no point in staying; anyone who did was as good as dead. He vaguely registered the shouts of other fairies, fairies with wands who were asking what he was doing in the plaza, telling him to get back to the stockroom, it's safer there. But Tracy knew that 'safety' was a thing of the past. Everything was a blur of pastels and an ashen gray, a deep black fog that simply didn't belong in this sanctuary of belief, and even the sounds were woven together after a moment. He had to tune it all out. If he truly let himself tune into the horror around him, he'd go mad.

There was a wet _thwip!_ and a crushing pressure on Tracy's chest that knocked him backwards, landing hard on the tiled floor, sprawled out and stock still. With his head tilted backwards to take in the reality-skewing scene above him, with fairies lifting themselves from the ground in hopes of gaining more time, trying to subdue The Void, he felt something creep up his neck. He didn't move; even breathing was difficult, with that thing on him, siphoning the magic from him like a leech drank blood. It was endlessly hungry, a small part of the whole, and it worked its way up his body. He felt the icy black tendrils on his jaw, shifting and expanding to spread across his cheek and lips. It covered his mouth and nose and he suddenly panicked. That was it. He felt it sucking the very breath from him, trying to drain him of his magic, to coat and decompose his body. He thrashed, the will for self preservation stronger than ever as he realized that _he was dying_.

He let out a muffled scream and tore the thing from his mouth, feeling its dead weight in his arms as it wrapped itself around his hands. It was hard to shake a bogeyman and it was hard to do much of _anything_ with one sucking the life from you, but He threw it to the ground with a great jerk of his arms, being careful not to step in it as he took off, trying to get to the other side of the plaza. He stumbled and tripped over his own feet as he ran, blindly ignoring shouts from the other fairies. He had one thing on his mind: a working wand.

The magic generator buttons wouldn't supply enough to pull the stunt he was planning – The Void had drained his world of too much magic for that to work, but the _real_ wands, the hand crafted wands that used essence of magic, they worked even in the most dire of circumstances. Fairies fell all around him, wings singed through by the acid touch of the bogeymen – wings were too delicate, they disintegrated upon contact with the tendrils, and for once in his life, Tracy was grateful for fairy evolution.

The wands were in Lily's office. It felt so wrong, to break in and take from her emergency store, but he was a wingless fairy, and wingless fairies were not issued wands, ever. He had no choice.

He threw the large oak doors open and was greeted by the same hissing, gurgling noise he'd heard out in the plaza; the bogeymen were here, too. His breath quickened as he scanned the room. Where was It? God, he could hear It, but It was no where to be found. That was terrifying, he thought, suddenly moved on, though still wary of the bogeyman. If he could find the wands quickly he might not even have to worry about It.

His stomach churned again, presenting him with a fresh wave of nausea at the thought of what he was doing, but he was stable, for now. There wasn't anything left in his stomach for him to vomit, he realized dryly.

He snatched one out of the case, having broken it open with a paperweight from Lily's desk. What was he doing, vandalizing her office, stealing her equipment? He was saving himself, he justified, he was doing the smart thing, because all those other fairies out there were as good as dead; their tenacity, their bull-headed belief that they could fight It off is what sealed their fates. Tracy prayed that he wasn't alone. If there was one thing he didn't want to be, it was the last living fairy. A small part of him wished that he was more able, more confident that he would be able to salvage his species, if there were any left other than himself. Another part couldn't help but burn at the back of his mind; _coward._

He gives it a little flick and a small sputter of magic trickles half-heartedly from the tip, falling to the floor and dying like fallen embers at his feet. He closes his eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath, the wet noises of the reforming bogeyman somewhere in the room growing louder, more persistent and undeniably _closer._

Tracy knew that this was a ditch effort. FairyLandwas so far gone, not even the magic of the wands was reliable anymore. The bogeyman had leeched him of so much magic, and an unsettling fatigue was beginning to creep its way into his bones. He had _one_ shot at this, and perhaps _just_ enough magic left in his body to pull it off. He channeled it all into the wand, feeling utterly _drained_ , empty and tired. He reached a trembling hand out and grabbed something off of Lily's desk. She'd obviously left in a hurry. His hand closed around the child's tooth, scooping it off the desk as the magic came to a boil in the wand, accepting of his energy and allowing him to use it. He would need that tooth, he knew, because where he was going wasn't a kind place. It wasn't somewhere he could survive without faith, and there was so little in that place already. His own faith was dwindling fast, disintegrating along with the rest of his home as the magic swirled about him in silken ribbons of color, a beautiful whirlwind that would provide his escape.

The pavement was hard under his palms as he landed roughly on his hands and knees, collapsing immediately into a pathetic trembling heap, biting back sobs that he was sure would ring through the calm night.

* * *

Tracy woke up with a shuddering gasp, his cheek pressed hard into the carpet of the bedroom floor. His hands were clenched in loose fists over his head and his face was wet, breath hitching awkwardly in his throat. He rolled into a more comfortable fetal position, drawing his knees up to his chest and covering his face with his hands. The nightmares wouldn't stop, because he couldn't remember who he was, where he'd come from or why there was this looming dread that constantly ate away at him.

Lily's doll lay on the bed, half dangling off the edge and looking down at him, forgotten in the vulnerability of the moment.

The alarm sounded from his night table, an ear splitting dry buzz of electrocution that only worsened the pain in his head.

It was time for work.


	3. Disillusion

Really, the only consolation was that today was Tuesday. He picked himself up off of the floor, fingers still trembling as he wiped his face dry, sniffling as he sat up, trying to catch his breath. The dreams always left him in a nauseous stupor, clouding his mind for the rest of the day.

He felt heavy, like his torso and limbs were filled with lead, and the sharp pain shot through his temple again. He cringed, cradling his head in his hands and groaning as he tried to stand, falling back onto the bed for a moment to steady himself. The nights were getting worse, more unbearable with every day that passed. His health was beginning to deteriorate, it had been for a while, but it was only recently thatTracytruly noticed how it had affected him. He was sick to his stomach, and didn't want to move. He knew he'd vomit it he tried to make it to the bathroom. He lay back on the sheets, head swimming. He had to go to work, he couldn't afford any sick days – business had been slow that month and he was hardly going to make rent as it was.

He sighed, knowing that he had a long day ahead of him, an even longer week, but if he didn't get up he would be in a bad situation. Plus, if he made it long enough at work today, he would get to see Lily. He was fully aware that there was the possibility of taking early leave, despite how badly he needed the money, but his body was rebelling against him. Perhaps that was the only thing keeping him at work that day, was the thought of seeing Lily before the shop closed. He stood against the half-door, watching the customers as the came and went. He could feel his mind start to drift at several points during the day, wanting nothing more than a restful sleep. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept peacefully – his mind was always troubled, now, by this fleeting memory that he could never seem to grasp.

Tracywas fragile; he'd been so ever since arriving in Denver. Little things that he couldn't understand would upset him, plunge him into a manic depression that took weeks to pull himself from. But there was _something_ inside him, pushing forward and telling him that no matter how bad his situation was, that he was important. He was needed, by someone. He could never remember who, though, which confused him further. Everything that might offer a semblance of comfort was shrouded behind that fog, hidden away for some strange reason, and he couldn't access the simplest memories that would suffice as clues.

Still, standing here and watching the children was almost enough to make him forget about the blurry nightmares. His headache subsided slightly as they chased each other around; some patrons looked on in annoyance, some looked to him to ask the parents to corral their children, but he didn't have the heart to, as he watched a pair of twin boys play make believe. He smiled wearily, a rare sight from him. He loved when the children played make believe, no matter what their fantasies were; whether they were playing superheroes or house, pirates or princesses, it was comforting for him to see. It was sort of a wave of relief, to see that children still believe in fantasy.

It was an odd sensation and he didn't know why he felt that way. It was puzzling. There were a lot of things he didn't know why he did. Whenever something silver caught his eye, his heart would give a little flip and his hand would fly to his lapel, as if checking to make sure something was still there. He kept the child's tooth, despite the fact that he hadn't the slightest idea of whose it was. Did he have children?Tracymight not have been able to remember much, but he knew he wasn't a father.

But it was okay, if not a little frustrating, constantly trying to understand his own mannerisms, especially at times like this, where he stood off to the side and watched the people.

He glanced up at the time piece that was hung on the back wall next to his tiny office door, his heart plummeting as he scanned the shop. Lily and her mum were no where to be seen. He panicked a bit, unsure of what to do. They arrived, every Tuesday right at seven thirty. It was like the length of the store, attracting the worried glances of the customers at the machines. He suddenly became very regretful of coming to work today – it was just another jab at him, another disappointment and another pain in his temple.

A million scenarios ran through his head at high speed, gruesome explanations as to why they hadn't 't drive – his salary didn't allow for it, not by any stretch of the imagination or his funds – but he'd seen the accidents, he knew what happened to the people in the vehicles, and it made him light headed just to think about. He had to ground himself, or the new anxiety coupled with the existing nausea would make him sick. He shouldn't worry so much, they were probably just running late.

Slowly, people filed out, one at a time – the time ticked by; Seven forty-five, eight, eight fifteen. He sat alone in the Laundromat at eight thirty, hunched over in one of the plastic seats with his head in his hands.

He sat there, trying to figure out what it was about Lily that he found so comforting. He focused on her, her complete innocence and childlike faith in fantasy. Her complex ideas about the dark, it was all so familiar, and it was more of a comfort than anything or anyone he'd met in the seven years he'd been inDenver.

There was the chime of the door bells as someone entered the shop – his head snapped up in interest, though from his sitting position, he couldn't see who it was, as his view was blocked by one of the free standing washing machines. He sat still, listening as the door closed behind the person and a laundry bin was set on the floor.

There were tiny foot falls and Lily came bounding around the corner, arms wide as she flew towards him. "Mister Tracy!" she shrieked happily as he caught her. Her tiny arms wrapped around his neck as he stood, supporting her weight by sliding one arm underneath her, and he carried her back to the machine her mother was using. She let him set her on top of one of the driers.

"Started to get a little worried," he admitted to the mother, "Usually, you two get here earlier, I was starting to think something happened. Is everything okay?" he asked.

The woman bent down and picked up a towel, tossing it into the machine as she stood. "Everything's fine," she said, not looking at him, "Lily just wanted to get here a little later is all. She said it had something to do with you and after that stunt she pulled with finding your apartment who am I to argue?" her voice was hard, on edge, and he could tell that she hadn't taken kindly to her daughter's uncanny intuition.

"How's she doing, at night, now? Any improvement?"

The last of the basket was emptied into the machine and she started the wash, leaning against the stainless steel and looking up at him. "I don't understand." She started, exasperated. "I've been trying to get her to sleep since my husband died. I tried everything, and then you tell her about these monsters that kept _me_ awake, and she's been out like a light every night right on time. Except for tonight," she looked at Lily, "You should have been in bed two hours ago, miss."

She laughed and kicked her legs, obviously wide awake.

He too leaned against the washer, his elbow resting besides her with a hand on top of her head. "And how about those dreams? Good dreams, I trust?" he asked, smiling down at her.

She giggled and nodded. The smile gradually faded from her face; she reached up to rest a tiny hand on his arm and spoke slowly. "I'm sorry you had the bad dream again, mister Tracy." Her voice was quiet and solemn and _scared_. "Please don't let them take your dreams away."

He picked her up and bounced her gently in his arms. "My dreams aren't going anywhere." He reassured her. She grabbed fistfuls of cloth at his collar and pressed her face into his shoulder; he rubbed his hand across her back, smoothing down the folds in her dress. He didn't want to say anything in front of her mother because he wasn't sure if she'd picked it up as well, but he'd never said anything to Lily about his nightmare. He stood there with them in relative silence as the washer-dryer cycle came to an end, setting Lily on top of the machine again and helping her mother fold the clothes and replace them in the laundry bin.

It was just another layer to the nagging confusion; and idea had settled itself inTracy's mind, that he rarely knew what was going on, and this only reinforced the notion. With every day that passed, he became more and more confused by things that he felt should have been second nature. There was a rhyme and reason to all this, but he couldn't see it; it was like looking at a riddle in another language and being expected to know it. If it had been presented to him in plain terms, in a way that he'd understand, he might have been able to answer all the questions he had while he stood with the single mother and her child, but as it were, he kept his questions to brew until the time came when he could answer them, if it ever did.

An odd feeling had burrowed its way into his chest – the ever present sense of dread lessened when he was with Lily and her mum. It lessened, but it was never gone completely, so that there was this swirling mix of feeling inside of him, bubbling and struggling with one another for dominance over his demeanor.

He placed the last folded white towel in the bin, offering to carry it to her car – he had to lock up anyway. It was a small red sedan, older with a wide steely scrape down its side. It was the only car in the lot. The woman frowned and scanned the surrounding area. "Where's yours?" she said, taking the bin from him and placing in the back next to Lily's car seat.

Tracyflipped the light switch inside, cutting off the only light source until Lily's mother turned the car on. By the dim gleam of the headlights, he locked the place up for the night, turning the ancient key in the padlock on the doors. "I don't drive." He said, and was thankful the light wasn't strong, hiding the pink tinge that crept along his cheeks. He wasn't usually a proud man, but his situation was a touchy topic. Some part of him that knew things used to be _better_ couldn't stand admitting that he was in a bad place, couldn't stand admitting that he was the low man on the totem pole _again_ , because he'd worked so hard to free himself from that position and now it had him right back under its thumb.

"But your apartment's almost twenty blocks away," she said in something that resembled shock, standing up out of the car to talk to him directly. "Let me drive you back – come on there's a storm coming and you can't walk home in that, get in."

The man hovered outside the passenger's seat door for a moment before opening it and sliding into the car, ducking his head and having to slouch slightly. He muttered an appreciative thank you, if not a little embarrassed, and buckled himself in as she put the car in reverse and pulled out of the parking space.

The rain started hitting the windshield almost the second they made it onto the main road, starting in little drops that splattered violently against the windshield. It began to rain harder and harder as they drove, until the wind was howling and the rain falling in torrents. A crack of lightning illuminated the sky, huge and menacing. Thunder rolled – the noise of an angry God. He looked over his shoulder at Lily, who was fast asleep, her head resting against the side of her car seat and her tiny fists clutching bundles of cloth at the hem of her dress. He was surprised the violence of the storm didn't wake her. He turned to her mother. "Thank you, for the ride. I would still be out on that main road in this if it weren't for you. Listen, If you want, you and Lily can stay with – with me until it passes, this way you don't have to – so you can get out of the rain. Just the thought of you two driving home in this makes me nervous." He admitted, hands fidgeting with the strap of his seatbelt.

"If it doesn't let up, I just might take you up on that offer." She said, her voice low, casting a worried glance at the skies. Despite the fact that it was pitch black out, every stroke of lightning that crackled through the sky illuminated the heavy cloud cover. Dark, billowing rain clouds that swallowed the horizon to wash the earth clean.

The apartment complex, at least, offered some light. Lonely streetlamps on either side of the entrance flickered wearily, casting just enough warm glow for them to work by. The car pulled up as close to the building as possible, allowing for a quick drop off that would hopefully keep them Lily and hurried into the lobby, cradling her sleeping form and watching as her mum parked and ran back to meet them in the sanctuary of the building. She was soaked to the bone, and he promised her a chance to dry off and a hot tea when they made it to his apartment.

He fumbled with the key in the lock, holding the young girl at his hip and opening the door for her mother, directing her to the bathroom an telling her there was a blow dryer under the sink and dry towels in the bin. He untucked the sheets from the corners of the bed and laid Lily down to sleep comfortably. She was out cold and he doubted that Armageddon could have woken her. She'd stayed up two hours past her bedtime and was tuckered out.

The woman came out of the bathroom with a towel, wiping absently at her shoulder, having hung her coat to dry. She held her phone and was staring down at it irritably. "Look at this, severe thunderstorm warning for twelve counties, flash flood warning for seven of them, and _miles_ of rain." He glanced at her phone, the weather app displaying a screen of almost pure green, interspersed with clusters of red that signified the more dangerous areas. Almost their entire county was swathed in red. She was exhausted and annoyed, he could tell. He handed her the tea cup and she sighed.

"You can pass the night here, if you need to," he offered, turning the heat on for her. The last thing she would need is to catch cold because of the rain. "Lily's already in bed, if you want to join her. I'll sleep out here." He moved to the couch and pulled the dense cushions off, unfolding the bed with a monstrous creak that made him cringe, certain it had woken the little girl in the next room.

He pulled out the extra blanket that he used in the winters when the heat didn't work and draped it over the pull out, beaming at the woman to let her know that it really was okay. "Go on, get some sleep, it's almost midnight." He said as she placed her empty tea cup in the sink.

"The rain should pass by tomorrow," she said absently as she moved into the bedroom, closing the door and leaving him alone in the dark. He laid back in the pull out bed, using on of the couch cushions as a pillow.

He heard the soft 'click' of the door locking.

He closed his eyes.

* * *

It was swarming, the dark. He couldn't move his limbs and It was suffocating him, lowering Itself down on him from the ceiling and blanketing his body, bogging him down.

He could feel the tears streaming down his face as It came for him, tearing senselessly at his shoulder blades and creeping up his stomach, his chest, his neck…

He thrashed, his body held in place by the sheer weight of the dark; he arced his back and twisted and kicked, but it was useless. It wrapped around his limbs and held him fast, clawing into his skin and creeping towards his mouth…

He felt it on his lips and gave a shuddering gasp, his voice dying in his throat as it coated his mouth like rubber, choking him. It formed around his nose, cutting off his airways, suffocating him. The dark writhed and contracted on his face as he felt the air being sucked from his lungs, along with _something else_ , a sort of life blood; he felt weak, his movements slowed and he began losing consciousness, still pushing half heartedly against the restraining mass of shadow. He couldn't breath, he couldn't think. It was taking something from him.

He closed his eyes, letting out a muffled whimper as it siphoned him dry of –

"Mister Tracy!"

His eyes shot open, hands flying up to clear his mouth and nose of the shadows that hadn't been there in the first place, giving a shuddering gasp as he realized that it had been a nightmare. Adrenaline pumped through him, his heart pounding against his chest and his breath coming in short, jagged gasps, as though he truly had been suffocating. He looked up.

Lily sat by his side, half draped over him to reach his shoulder. "Are you awake now?" she asked softly. He nodded, sliding her off of him so that he could sit up and toss the blanket to the side. Though it kept him warm, its weight was most unwelcomed given his recent experiences. He propped himself up against the back of the couch and pulled her to his side, one arm draped around her as she looked up at him.

"What are you doing up?" he whispered, helping her sit up in the awkward bed.

She looked up at him and bunched the fabric in her hands. "I had to wake you up. They were hurting you. You have to start having good dreams, or they'll hurt you. It's like you told me, they can't hurt you if you have good dreams."

"Little Lily," he said shakily, shifting so that he was facing her more directly. "Let's see if you can answer me this: How do you do the things you do? Knowing about my bad dreams, where I live… and if I didn't know better, I'd say you knew about this rain storm too, that's why you asked your mum to go to the Laundromat later, isn't it?"

The child giggled and ducked her head, partially hiding in the sheet. That was enough of an answer for Tracy, who pulled the sheet away from her, hoping to keep her attention for a few minutes before he sent her back to bed with her mum. "How do you do it? Knowing all these things you shouldn't?"

She looked at him and curled in on herself, crossing her legs and hunching over slightly. "Daddy said that I would be able to do things other people can't. He told me that it would happen a lot because I can't control it, but when I get older I will. I can know things if I want. You're worried you won't be able to stay in the apartment this month." She said, causing a pain to shoot through his chest at the thought. "But it's okay. If you want you can come stay with us. Mommy likes you. I think it's because you're like daddy was. You're different, like me. It's not a bad thing, but sometimes it can be scary. The bogeymen won't leave you alone, Mister Tracy. They're hurting you."

He felt something claw at his chest, a biting pain that pushed a hard lump of heat to the back of his throat. He found his head bobbing up and down in a small nod and her hands on his arm. He wasn't so sure about bogeymen, but his restless dreams, his nightmares had drained him, make him sick and were disabling.

"You have bad dreams because you don't remember. Daddy didn't remember much either, but he still knew he was different. You don't even have that."

He found his vision swimming at the girl's words. What she was telling him was everything he'd locked away for nearly a decade, unwilling to admit even to himself.

She grabbed his hand and set it on her knee, splaying his fingers and latching onto him with her tiny hands. "Daddy told me never to tell anyone, ever. But if I don't tell you I think you're going to die like he did." Her voice was soft and frightened. He curled his fingers in to take a hold of her hand. "You won't believe me because they took it all from you, and you don't remember. Daddy said that we have magic." She said. His heart sank at those words, an inexplicable sadness that made him cringe. "Sometimes it can be taken away, and if too much is taken away then we can get really hurt. That's why the bogeymen were able to hurt him. Daddy was a fairy."

There was a ringing pain in his head; he let go of her hand and brought both of his to his temples, pressing as hard as he could to try to make the pain stop. There was something about her story, about her father's make believe that just sat wrong with him, and again there was that uncomfortable sensation of something he'd forgotten. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, giving a small groan. He felt her weight shift and she stood next to him. "It's okay. I know it's hard to remember. It's because they took too much of your magic. They take more every time you have a bad dream, but you can get it back, and maybe you can remember. You're a fairy too, I can tell. You don't have wings like daddy did, but you're a fairy."

Tracy's shuddered under her touch. This little girl's fantasy shouldn't have affected him so much. Everything these last few months had just been too much, and he'd bit the bullet, taken it all with a grain of salt, just _accepted_ his lot, and never once blinked. He was surprised, honestly, that it had taken him this long to reach his breaking point.

"It's okay," she said, patting him on the shoulder as he was hunched over, knees drawn up to his chest. "Daddy taught me a trick. Sometimes when I have a lot of magic, I can do tricks. You wanna see?" she asked, tugging on his sleeve, trying to make him look up. She knew that he needed to see. It wasn't so much that he didn't believe her, but that he didn't _want_ to believe her. Something bad had happened to him that not even he knew about, and it was hurting him, just like the bogeymen. He looked up, breath shaky and trembling all over. Lily smiled at him and sat down, cupping her palms and spreading them out towards him.

It was gradual, and he felt his breath hitch at first, berating himself for actually having expected any sort of magic. Despite the girl's uncanny knack for knowing things she shouldn't, he couldn't be expected to believe she was a fairy. But soon, an electric tingle filled the atmospere, the air over her palms distorting, swirling, before he saw the first shimmer of blue circle into her hand, quickly joined by its brothers until there was a small galaxy in her palm, a fluid sort of glitter that hung in mid air, shifting and forming to create whatever she wanted. He watched in awe as a small blue lily formed in her hands. It seemed to produce its own light, casting it over them and removing a weight from his chest.

Lily smiled into its glow and looked up at him. "It's not much, but it might help. It's for you. Go on, take it."

Tracysat there, unmoving for a moment. Was it safe? It was _magic_. Pure, honest-to-God _magic_. He couldn't explain it, he didn't try to, but it just made him feel so _different_. He thought maybe he used to feel like this all the time, but it was such a distant feeling, hardly conscious thought. He reached a hand out.

His fingers pressed into the depths of the lily; the blue magic bubbled and formed around his fingers, shifting to accommodate the intrusion. It was cool to the touch and produced an odd electric tingle in his fingertips, as if his hand had fallen asleep. It allowed him to remain there for a moment before the lily seemed to explode in a show of swirling glitter, recoiling for a moment before seeming to take on a mind of its own, rising of its own accord and throwing itself in his face. He sputtered and coughed as he inhaled it – more accurately as it seeped into him. He could _feel_ it, the small amount of dust spreading through his entire body, filling him, warming him, breaking barriers his body had built.

Lily sat patiently at his side, watching as the magic coursed its way through his body, replacing what was taken from him, what he'd been missing for so many years. It only took a little.

Tracy felt like a fog had been lifted, a weight taken from his chest and the pain in his temple was only a memory. The absurd feeling passed, the magic integrating itself into his body. The lights in the kitchen flickered and the lamp to their right went haywire, bathing the entire apartment in an epileptic light show.

The lights slowly dimmed, swathing them in darkness again, but it was a different dark. This one didn't feel heavy or threaten to suffocate him. This dark was not a presence, but literally just the absence of a light source. He had forgotten that this is what dark is supposed to feel like. Calm, soothing, something that isn't to be feared.

The pressure in his chest dissipated, leaving him empty, leaving him a clean slate and a clear head. He took a deep breath. "It's all gone," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Everything."

With the shroud lifted, he remembered everything: the fear, the chaos, _Marina_. Watching the one place he'd ever called home die before him, abandoning it for _this_. The heat return, forcing its way up his throat, stinging behind his eyes. Lily crawled closer to him, nestling against his side as he ducked his head against his knees, shoulders heaving. He broke. Seven years of misfortune, of having lived on the human plane with no recollection of who he was, with everything blocked behind a dam, was _nothing_ compared to remembering. It tore at him, a wave of realization that Fairyland, his home, millions of other fairies, his _race_ , they were all gone. He let out a choked sob and felt the little girl's arms around his neck. "It'll be okay." She said quietly, trying to comfort him. He doubted she really knew what he'd meant, and if she did, he doubted that she truly understood the scope, but she was a comfort.

There was a crash and clatter from the bedroom, and he heard Lily's mother swear loudly before the door was flung open with a bang. She called for her daughter and Lily answered quietly, knowing her mother would hear his quiet sniffling, that he wasn't a threat. "It's okay mommy. Look." Her voice was soft as she directed her mother's attention toTracy. Even in the dim light, she could see the deplorable state the man was in, reduced to a sobbing tangle of limbs. Nothing that he had done was any concrete evidence that he was a bad man, just unfortunate. Strangely enough, it pulled at her heartstrings, to see him so broken.

Lily acted strangely around this man, and she couldn't say she liked it, but she couldn't bring herself to pull her daughter from his side. "He needs us, mommy," Lily said, and she found that her daughter had taken the words right out of her mouth. She couldn't agree more.

She busied herself in the small kitchen, pulling out a small can of ginger ale and a box of Matzo crackers to settle his stomach, sitting on the bed in front of him and waiting patiently as his affliction went from sobs to quiet heave to sniffles to shudders, and he looked up, seeing her offer him the can. He reached out an unsteady hand and took it gratefully.

Lily sat in his lap, leaning back against his chest. Suddenly it all made sense to him. The way they'd found him wandering around, raving like a lunatic – it was the last of his memory, desperately clinging on, trying to remind him of who – _what_ – he was. The dreams, recollection of the disaster that had engulfed his home…

"There are others," he heard Lily say. "Other fairies, just like you and me and like daddy. It'll be okay."

Her mother looked up at him, mouthing 'fairies?' and he laughed through the last of his tears. "It's a long story. I'm not sure if I'm exactly up to it at the moment, but I think a proper explanation is the least you deserve. I know it sounds insane, but we are. Fairies, I mean, me and Lily. Tooth fairies. I'm a Tooth Fairy."


	4. Discover

The old Laundromat had closed down six days after the night Lily and Donna stayed at his apartment. He hadn't expected the place to stay open very long, what with how high the expenses were and how few people actually used the facility. The proprietors had closed shop without warning, themselves having struggled to keep it open during the last few months of its operation. They'd come in a half an hour before closing, handed Tracy his last paycheck – not even enough to pay his month's rent. They'd apologized and said they'd put in a good word for him wherever he went, but he knew that he was out of options. So many establishments had already black-listed him because of the immigrations mix up, and even more had caught wind of the terrible rumors flying about from his tenure at the Laundromat. He didn't know how anyone could expect him to get a decent paying job anywhere in the city after those mishaps.

He had no way of transferring cities, either. He supposed that he could use his last check to catch a bus out of town and stay at a motel for a few nights until he found something, but he knew that there wasn't the promise of work, and winter was coming. If he was caught on the streets by the time the first snow settled, he'd be frozen over. It was just another one of those miserable surprises, nothing more than a punch to the gut that left him sick that night, anxiety inevitably getting the better of him.

He lay awake in bed that night, unable to sleep with one thought running through his head: it was okay if he couldn't sleep. He didn't have to get up for work tomorrow. He didn't have a job. It was something that gnawed away at him more and more every second, guiding his train of thought in the most undesirable directions he could imagine, plaguing him until he exhausted himself in his worry, until his eyes couldn't stay open any longer and he fell into a fitful sleep at five in the morning.

They'd showed up at his door the next evening with a movie, takeout, and sympathetic smiles, and even just that was enough to brighten his week, to pull him from the dangerous rut he'd grooved himself into the last two days. They sat on the old chair in the sitting room and she'd put the movie in as he sat with Lily – he didn't really register much of the movie, and Donna could tell. She saw the distant look in his eyes, the way he seemed to look through the television. Curled up on the couch next to him and her daughter, she hit the pause button on the movie, looking over at the man who was startled out of his stupor by the sudden absence of noise. He looked over at her. "Everything okay?" he asked softly.

"I don't know, you tell me. How're you going to hold up?" the woman asked. Tracy felt his face flush, looking down at Lily, who was playing with the remote that her mother had placed on the couch besides her.

"I'll – I'll manage," he said, though he wasn't exactly sure if it were true or not. "Maybe find work inJeffersonCounty."

"You know, my husband was a fairy, and Lily's a fairy, and up until a few days ago, I thought fairies were make believe, stories that parents tell their children before bed. I'm just," she laughed absently, "I'm just a silly old human and I know _nothing_ about my daughter, about what she is. And I think Lily was wrong, the other night. She had it backwards. _We_ need _you_."

Using the wooden chopsticks, Tracy pulled wearily at the noodles in the carton. He wanted nothing more than to stay with Lily, the poor dear, having to grow up a fairy on the human plane. Even if she was only _half_ fairy, it was still going to be difficult. But come next week when he couldn't pay rent, he'd be evicted and on his own, and with no one hiring – or more accurately, no one hiring _him_ – in the county, he had to take the shot in Jefferson as soon as he could, covering as much ground as possible before the winter set in. "I – I wish I could help, Donna. I do. I know how hard it is to be out of your element like this but… I have to get going. There's a lot you can do for her, even as a human. She needs a good mother, someone understanding enough to get through those difficult years of haywire magic, and I know you can do that for her. I'll help as much as I can, but – cards on the table – I'm going to be pretty much useless. Especially if she grows wings. Hard to tell at her age, without the proper equipment. Don't have any of that, obviously."

Lily's face lit up, "I'm going to have _wings_ , like Daddy?"

"Very possible," he told her, though he could see her mother blanch at the notion. As a first time mother, 'wing care and treatment' probably wasn't covered in the training books. He gave her a sad smile. "It'll be okay, they won't come in for a few years."

Donna stared at him for a moment, thoughtful. "Can I ask you a question?" Her brow had creased and the gentle smile had fled from her face. It worried him a bit that her demeanor would change so suddenly, but he expected it from a mother who'd just learned her daughter was a fairy. He'd do his best to ease her worries.

"What's that?"

A beat passed between them, and she took the remote from her daughter, who had just changed the hue to coat the picture in a deep blue, making it look as if the scene took place underwater, perhaps just to put some space between her and the looming question. "What happened to your home? Fairyland, I mean." She asked quietly. He felt his heart give an uncomfortable thud in his chest and he sighed. It was a question that was bound to come up sooner or later, what with her daughter and him and the _episode_ he'd had last week.

"We weren't the only ones," he started. "There were a lot before us. Dragons and leprechauns and trolls… they all disappeared, because people stopped believing in them."

Donna's eyes went wide, eyebrows arching up her forehead. "Just like that?" she asked softly.

He shook his head. "I wish. No… it's not as quick and painless as they make it sound, like it all happened in the bat of a wing. It's… it takes a long time, because everyone puts up a fight. No one _wants_ to be disenchanted, you know – that's what it's called. So there's this _thing_ that comes to your plane of existence and it's hungry, it's always hungry, and it feeds on magic. All of us – fairies, dragons, leprechauns, mermaids – we all need magic to survive. It's like… you humans have blood, air and food, and that's what you need to live. We need all that too, but we need _magic_ , we need people to believe, or else it can take everything from us. And it takes our magic, from the world, from the air, from our bodies, and it's horrible. Once it makes it into your world, there's no getting it out. Even if there's just a _trace_ of it left, it breeds in disbelief, and it eats your world from the inside out. I didn't stick around to watch it happen."

Lily went still in his lap, not daring to move a muscle the whole time he spoke. She folded her hands in her lap and seemed to shrink. "The bogeymen," she added; Tracy nodded in agreement.

"That's right, little Lily," he continued, "and you were right about them eating my dreams, too. But they can't hurt us, now." He bent over and hugged her gently. "They're gone."

"Is that it, then?" Donna asked quietly, "They're just going to eat everything here too?"

"No. the Human plane is safe. You lot don't have any magic for them to feed off of. And I hate to say it, but this place is like home to them. All the disbelief and foul feelings here, it's the prefect breeding grounds, like a lake to mosquitoes." Tracy picked Lily up from the sofa between his knees and set her in his lap. Even as a human child, it would be expected for someone of her age to be frightened of these monsters – children were so much _smarter_ than adults, they knew that there were dangers lurking in the dark that the grown ups couldn't see.

They were hyperaware, keen to every thing that happened around them – sometimes things that couldn't be seen or heard or touched, things that had to be _believed_. That's where the magic came from, created and used in a continuous cycle that fed both worlds. They were pure, untainted by the lies fed to them over the years of their adolescence. _No such thing as Tooth Fairies_. He scoffed lightly. "Children stopped believing, and Fairies stopped existing. All except for a few of us, according to Lily."

She nodded enthusiastically. "Some of them even remember, too! They're the lucky ones, like you Mister Tracy!"

He smiled sadly and nodded. "I wouldn't exactly call myself 'lucky' at the moment, sweetie. I've got a lot on my hands at the moment, and things are going to get pretty tough. You might not see me for a while, okay?"

The young girl scrunched her face up in disapproval. "You can't go!" she protested. He sighed. He didn't want to go, but what choice did he have? "Ask him mommy!" she pleaded, reaching over and tugging on Donna's sleeve.

"Ask him what?" she prodded, a look of confusion forming on her face. Her daughter could be so cryptic sometimes, but at least now she knew why.

"What you were thinking about asking him in the car!" Her eyes went wide for a moment before she remembered Tracy's explanation about how younger fairies had such an excess of magic, so much that sometimes it literally burst forth from them, unsure of what else to do. He'd said that Lily didn't have _quite_ that much magic, but it was more than enough to facilitate her uncanny abilities. Donna's face softened, and she smoothed down her daughter's hair, a small smile playing across her lips at her antics. "Ask him." She urged, her words drawn out in a whine of impatience.

The woman looked up at Tracy, who was rather confused. "Ask me? Ask me what?"

"You don't have to leave, you know." She said. "It's just me and Lily, at home. We could use you around. What do you say?"

Her words processed slowly, each individual syllable taking forever to make sense in his mind. He was caught off guard, and he didn't know what to say. He was shocked speechless, literally, and it took him several minutes just to find his voice, during which Lily laughed happily at his reaction, chanting "It's a yes! It's a yes!" through her giggles.

The nod started out slow at first, but gradually picked up speed as he realized what had just happened, eyes widening. The little girl shrieked happily as he hugged her before planting a friendly kiss on Donna's cheek, bubbling an endless stream of gratitude. The blaring sound of the movie interrupted him as Lily hit the play button. He couldn't help himself from grinning like a fool as they all sat a little closer, the worry in his chest dissipating and something truly _brilliant_ filling the space it left, something he hadn't felt in _years_.

Happy.

* * *

Tracy was a caseworker. He always had been, and it really was what he did best. The hours were long, and sometimes he was called in on a bit of an emergency, but very rarely did he mind – the pay was good, and he liked his clients well enough. It was always a good feeling, being able to help someone out of a jam, being able to point people in the right direction and better the community. Sure, there was a lot of paperwork involved, but really it had always been that way, lots of paperwork, lots of people.

People, not fairies.

Things had turned around when he started living with Donna and Lily. Everything seemed less of a burden – people recognized him as a stable part of society – _he_ recognized himself as part of the Human plane, now, almost a person of mixed heritage. He had roots in fantasy, but was slowly sowing the seeds of a life amongst humans.

He was finally free of that dead-end job, free of that miserable apartment, free of the burden of not knowing who he was, and suddenly things just got _better._ He found a job, a well paying job that started off as simple secretary in child services. He _knew_ that's where he belonged, helping children. It was almost impulsive, for him, and he was accepted due to his previous tenure as a caseworker and the fact that the agency was in need of a good secretary.

It was only a matter of time before they realized his strengths in working with others, with children, with families in need of help, and up the metaphorical ladder he went. He earned a good living, and between his and Donna's income, their haphazard family lived comfortably. It was funny, that only a few years ago Tracy had been convinced that the human plane was a terrible place to be; he pitied those few good people in the world, and he would have laughed had anyone told him _this_ would be his life.

Lily came bounding towards him when he walked through the front door – He got home much later than the girls, who both ended their day at three thirty. Lily was a third grader, now, a big girl, and Donna was a teacher at the local elementary school.

He gave her a quick hug before her mother called for her. "You still have homework to do!"

Tracy sat with her at the kitchen table, helping her with her math homework – she seemed to be having trouble mastering the double-digit multiplication, but they'd have that fixed in a tick, wouldn't they, he told her. It was a long and grueling process, but they kept at it until she could tackle and double-digit numbers he threw at her. She tucked the worksheets away in her school folder and pulled out a black and white map of the Unites States, dragging with it a pack of Crayola crayons to color the individual states. Her scarlet red scribbled acrossGeorgia. "Mister Tracy," she said, filling in the thick black lines, clutching the crayon in one fist. "When am I going to get my wings?"

He furrowed his brow and pressed his lips into a hard line. Donna joined them at the table, having too been curious about her daughter's development. He wrung his hands together for a moment before plucking her from her seat and bouncing her on his knee. "There's this thing called 'Fairy Evolution.' It says that sometimes fairies get wings and sometimes they don't. And because your mum isn't a fairy, there's that to factor in and – and humans don't have wings… So even though your dad did…"

"So I'm not going to get wings?" she asked, looking up at him.

He sighed. "They would have come in by now, sweet heart. M'sorry."

"It's okay," she said, reaching for the crayon. "You don't have wings either, Mister Tracy. You're still a fairy. So am I!"

The man felt a smile spread across his face, swallowing back a lump in his throat and ducking down to kiss her temple. "Yes you are, Lily. Yes you are."

* * *


	5. Disclosure

She watched them.

Neither one of them were exactly remarkable. Perhaps she wouldn't have noticed them at all had it not been for the little girl. The snow had fallen heavily the night before, coating Denver in an impermeable blanket of white. But as the child sat there and played, occasionally hitting her caretaker in the leg with a snowball and letting out the lightest laugh the woman had ever heard, she thought to attribute the day to chance itself. By chance, they all found themselves in the park that day. By chance, he'd had to step away to take a phone call, glancing away from the girl to write something down. By chance, she'd noticed them at all.

It was not chance, however, that the snow began melting.

It wasn't so much that the snow melted that caught the woman's attention, but where it melted. A perfect circle around the little girl on the ground, the snow melted, revealing bright green grass beneath. She smiled, pressing into the soft, alive earth, and from the tips of her fingers sprang toadstools, dandelions and tufts of grass.

That is what caught the woman's attention; when the man placed the little pad back into his pants pocket and looked down at her, the woman could see, even from afar, the look of shocked terror that crossed his features. Immediately, he scooped the girl up and kicked snow over the new life, glancing around fearfully.

The woman couldn't simply sit there and watch them leave; she supposed that was why he turned and darted for the park gates, little girl still secure in his arms. She supposed that if she hadn't given chase, he wouldn't have taken off. Then again, if she hadn't given chase, he would have slipped away - they both would have.

She couldn't let them, and the moment she realized this was the moment she broke out into a run, the snow crunching beneath her boots, and her coat flying out behind her.

He looked over his shoulder, discreetly as he could, and his breath hitched when he saw the woman coming up fast behind them.

"What's going on?" she asked quietly, sensing his fear, tiny fists clutching tighter to his coat lapel. He, in turn, held her closer to him, his footsteps quickening ever-so-slightly. He was sure he could get back to the car before this woman caught up to them. She'd seen the Fairy Ring, he was certain of it. The thought sent sick spirals of nervousness through him; He'd come too far to be dragged down like this, he had too much to protect now. If it had been back then, when it had just been him and his nightmares, he might have gone down without a fight - he hadn't had any fight in him then, of course, but now - now, he had Lily. He whispered reassuringly to her, who had tears welling up in her eyes. She knew he was scared; she always did.

His feet hit the chilled blacktop of the car park, and he looked back again, less discreetly this time. His heart plummeted. She was running at them, full force, coat billowing out from behind her, kicking up snow. He swore under his breath and clutched the girl to him, taking off similarly. He had the advantage on her, his legs were longer and carried him further stride-for-stride, but his gait was awkward with Lily in his arms. The cold air burned his lungs and the blood rushed in his ears as they raced.

He held her with one arm, fishing in his coat pocket for his keys, and nearly slamming them both bodily into the side of the car. He ducked down and placed her in her car seat, fingers not working properly, unable to lock the seatbelt quickly enough.

He stood and saw her round the corner of the car park, and he felt sick, slamming her door shut and turning to the driver's seat. The cold had numbed him hands, and he barely felt the slick handle—

"Stop! Stop, you're a- your wallet!"

Tracy faltered for a moment, patting down his pockets and finding that his wallet was, indeed, gone. The fear and dread left him for a split second as the thought crossed his mind: how had she done that? She hadn't been anywhere near close enough to him to pick his pocket. He turned to face her, seeing that she held the fold of leather securely in one gloved hand, and ran up to meet him. She was slightly out of breath, but he could still see the determination and amazement in her eyes.

He took the wallet from her, and turned back to the car. "Thank you. I have to go." he said heavily, avoiding eye contact, but she grabbed the door before he could swing it shut.

"Don't," was all she could manage. He swallowed hard; he could hear Lily sniffling quietly in the back seat, and he tried to close the door again, only to be met with resistance. "Tracy?"

His grip tightened on the steering wheel. Despite his better judgement, he looked up at her. "Well that's grand," he said bitterly. "You know me. Care to introduce yourself?"

She stood there for a moment, dumbfounded and leaning halfway into his car. "Clarissa." she said, the tone of her voice suggesting that it was common knowledge.

"Nice to meet you Clarissa, but I'm late for—"

"A dentist's appointment. I use that all the time."

"M-mr. Tracy?" he heard Lily whisper from the back seat. This sent a sudden jolt through the man, who seemed to have forgotten the weight of the situation. _Had to get her home, had to get her out of there._ He turned the key in the ignition. as Clarissa leaned further into the car, peering back at Lily. The woman smiled.

"Hello, sweetie," she cooed, before looking back at the driver. "Is she your daughter?" she asked. For him, it was an instinctual response, almost. He'd wanted to answer 'yes,' before he even registered what the question had been. He wasn't her father - not by a long shot - but he considered himself her dad. She and her mother meant the world to him; they were all he had any more, and he loved them both dearly. He made an odd choking noise, and only barely managed to shake his head. Her smile softened and she leaned back over to talk to Lily. "Have fun in the snow?" she asked; the little girl gave a meek nod. "I saw the pretty dandelions you made. You like Fairy Rings?" Here, Tracy's stomach dropped into oblivion, and he tried to interject, but Lily spoke up.

"Mr. Tracy doesn't know." she said quietly.

He stopped. The words didn't add up. What didn't he know? What he did know was that this woman knew that Lily was a Fairy - probably knew he was a fairy, too - and that they were in a lot of danger. "Doesn't matter what I know." he said curtly. "You know what I know? I know that we're going to be late, and I would appreciate it if you would kindly get off of my—"

"It's okay."

He pressed his lips together and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. The words had come from Lily, and meant more to him than any of the conversation he and Clarissa had had. He swallowed thickly and turned towards her. "What?"

"It's okay," she said again, her tiny fingers working at the belt of her car seat. In an instant, she was out, door open and at this woman's side. He jumped from the car as she picked Lily up, before tearing the girl from her grasp.

"Don't you dare touch her." he hissed, trying to shield her and bring himself to his full height at the same time.

Clarissa seemed to shrink back. "Tracy - you don't remember." the words held unbelievable weight to them. Her eyes went from wide and excited, to somber and full of sadness for him. "Thought that might happen. The others don't remember much either." she said quietly.

The anger in him suddenly fled, and his heart skipped several beats at once, fluttering awkwardly in his chest as the notion struck. He dared not hope. "Others?" he asked, relaxing his stance.

"They don't remember much of anything about the place. That's what happens with Disenchantment," she sighed. There was a pause, and she laughed. "I must sound insane to you," she trilled.

"It was my home too." he said, letting Lily grab his glasses off of his face. "I remember."

Something inside of his swelled with joy.

She was a fairy.

Ten years he'd lived on The Human Plane, and never had he met another fairy, save for Lily, a Faeid.

She gave a start, the beginnings of a smile spreading over her frostbitten lips. "There are more of us." she said, her voice a quiet whisper, but with more excitement than he'd heard in years. "Eight small families in Lancaster. We think there might be more."

It was overwhelming. That was the only way Tracy could describe that moment; he'd known that other fairies had made it out. Lily was living proof of that, her father had been a fairy. But to his knowledge, he was alone with the passing of her father. He'd been the last surviving fairy for the last decade. The thought - the _fact_ that there were others…

The corners of his lips pulled up and he let out one shaky breath, resembling a laugh. He'd been pulled from the edge of collapse by the little girl in his arms. Her mother had taken him in, given him a home and a family, when he had nothing left but the nightmarish memories of his home being ripped apart at the seams. Things had turned around after he'd called them his family, and he'd built a new life in this world, a happy life, one that he looked back on now and could smile about, genuinely smile, and he was so grateful to Lily and Donna, but the knowledge that there were other fairies, surviving and getting on somewhere in Lancaster sent a surge of joy through him.

"Come back with us." Clarissa said softly, her voice materializing in front of her in the cold. The puff of breath brought him back to himself, and he understood her words slowly, one at a time. She wanted him to come to Lancaster, to be amongst his own again, for the first time in ten years. His mind began reeling instantly - He'd have to take off work, find a substitute for Donna's classes, plane tickets, a hotel… He began running projected numbers and making a check list in his mind, all the while muttering senselessly about the small community in Lancaster— "Annalise has been looking for a house mate. She doesn't like living alone," the woman elaborated, and Tracy's muttering came to an abrupt halt. He looked squarely at her, expression blank.

"What?"

"Annalise," she repeated, "I know you probably don't remember her, but after what happened on that day, she's terrified of being alone, poor thing. We didn't all have each other right off the bat, you know. Took some time to find one another, not unlike this right now; a lot of us thought we were alone."

Tracy swallowed hard. He knew that feeling all too well. The early months after Lily helped him, gave him back his magic, the dread and the looming notion weighed heavily on his mind, even through the gratitude towards the two. He knew what it was like to be afraid of being alone, to feel the mere ghost of the black tar boogeymen and fear its presence. He nodded vaguely, trying to process the old information and the new.

She wanted him to move to Lancaster, to live within the small community of his own species.

She wanted him to leave Denver.

"Mr. Tracy?" he heard, and he squinted down at Lily, who held his glasses out to him. He shoved them roughly back onto the bridge of his nose and he could see she was smiling. "You can go," she said; her voice was sad, but she meant it. "I know you miss them."

Something was pushing its way up the man's throat. He hugged the little girl close to him, stopping only to bend over and place her back in her car seat, securing her straps and kissing her head before ducking out and closing both her door and his own, turning back to Clarissa and striking up the conversation again.

Lily watched them from the car. They moved away, so she couldn't hear what they were saying through the glass, but she saw her dad's hands shaking. He was gesturing wildly, and had his back to the car. The little girl could only see his friend's face, and she remained more or less passive as she took in what he was saying.

It all stopped suddenly when Tracy folded his arms tight across his chest, and she smiled warmly up at him and nodded, saying something. He hugged her enthusiastically, like the way Lily saw him hug mother, before she broke and reached into her purse, handing him a slip of paper and walking off. He stood there for a moment, watching her go, frozen as the snow on the ground until she was out of sight, when he turned and walked back to the car, fingering the piece of paper as if it were going to blow away like ashes in his hand.

He got in the car, the warmth a shock for him, coming in from the cold, and he placed the paper on the dashboard compartment for a moment. He sank back into the seat, removing his glasses and pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes, making that odd choking noise again. That had been perhaps the most difficult decision he'd ever made. He was confident he'd made it well.

Lily suddenly realized what had just happened. She'd told him to go, because she knew he missed being with other fairies, but it occurred to her now that he was going to leave. It was bitter sweet for the child; she knew he was going somewhere where he would be really happy, but she didn't want him to leave. She didn't want to never see him again. She unbuckled herself, listening to his unsteady breathing, and climbed up across the armrest in the front of the car and sat heavily beside him, her own voice rising in pitch. "Mr. Tracy? Are you going to go live with them? Mr. Tracy? M— Dad?" she whined, and he took a deep breath, scooping her up and setting her in his lap, putting the car back in park for the moment.

He brought a hand up to her face and thumbed away the tears that had begun to collect on her lashes. "I'm not going anywhere, sweet heart." he said, holding her as she hugged him back, as forcefully as her tiny frame could. "I've got my family, right here in Denver."

She had her face buried in his shirt, and he could barely make out her words, but they made him smile nonetheless. Trying to keep the unnecessary tears at bay, now that she knew he was wasn't leaving them, she mumbled into his chest: "I love you, dad."

He rubbed her back gently and thought about just what turning down Clarissa's offer meant.

Yes.

He'd definitely made the right choice.


End file.
